“Can you see anything?” Halina shouts over the din of the crowd.
Mila shakes her head. “Not yet.” She’s the tallest of the group. Pivoting in place, she scours the sea of strangers around her, letting her eyes linger occasionally on the back of a head until it turns, revealing a face that bears no resemblance at all to her husband or her brother, then jumping quickly to the next in the mob.
“Mamusiu,” Felicia calls, squeezing Mila’s hand.
“Yes, darling.”
“Do you see him?”
Mila shakes her head and tries to smile. “Not yet, love. But I’m sure he’s here.” She bends quickly to kiss Felicia on the cheek.
As she stands, her eyes catch something in the crowd and her heart pauses. A profile. Handsome. Tall. Dark-haired, albeit with a hairline that receded farther than she remembered . . . could it be? “Genek!” she yells, flailing an arm over her head. Behind her, Nechuma gasps. Genek turns, his eyes bright, scanning the faces in the direction from which he’d heard his name, finally meeting Mila’s.
“Where? Where do you see?” Halina shouts, hopping up and down.
Genek’s voice hurtles overhead, somehow audible amid the racket. “Mila!” His arm shoots up over his head, knocking the cap from someone in front of him. He disappears for a moment to retrieve the hat, and when he surfaces again he is moving toward her. “You stay there!” Genek shouts. “I’ll come to you!”
“It’s him! It’s him! It’s him!” Halina, Sol, and Nechuma echo each other’s elation, bouncing rapidly in place. Hearing Genek’s voice is reason enough to celebrate.
Mila drops her satchel and hoists Felicia up to her waist. The child has yet to gain back the weight she’d lost in the convent bunker—Mila can easily hold her on her hip with one arm. Mila points at Genek. “You see? Just there. Your uncle, Genek! He’s the handsome one, with the big smile and the dimples. Wave!” Felicia smiles and waves along with her mother.
“And Father? Is he with him?” Felicia’s voice is nearly swallowed in the cacophony.
A thought strikes Mila fast and hard like a mallet to a gong—what if Selim isn’t here? What if something’s happened since they last corresponded? What if he’s gone? What if he hadn’t the courage to meet them? Where are you, Selim? “I don’t see your father just yet,” she starts, but as her brother draws closer, she notices a body following closely behind. Dark-haired, a head shorter than Genek. She had missed him at first. “Wait. I think I see him! He’s just behind your uncle.”
Felicia cranes her neck. “You say hello first,” she says, suddenly shy.
Mila nods, and lowers Felicia to the ground, taking her hand. “Okay.”
“Genek—is he close?” Nechuma asks. “Is Selim with him, too?”
Mila turns around to face her mother. “Yes, Selim is with him. Come,” she says, reaching for Nechuma and pulling her gently to stand in front of her. “Genek is nearly here. You should be the first to greet him.”
Genek is stuck behind a group of locals. Mila watches as he loses his patience, turns his body sideways, and pushes his way through. A couple of the men yap at him in Italian, but he is unfazed.
The tears that have welled in Nechuma’s eyes stream down her cheeks like water from a broken dam when she finally sees her eldest striding toward her, even more dashing in his army attire than she remembered him. “Genek!” is all she can manage when he sees her. His eyes are wet, too. He reaches for her and she for him, and they meld together in a long embrace, shaking with laughter and sorrow and raw, uninhibited joy. Nechuma closes her eyes, feeling her son’s warmth radiate through her as he rocks her gently from side to side.
“I missed you so much, Mother.”
Nechuma is too emotional to speak. When she finally peels herself away, Genek wipes his eyes with the palms of his hands, and beams at his family. Before he can say a word, Halina jumps into his arms.
“You made it.” Genek laughs. “I can’t believe how far you’ve come.”
“You have no idea,” Halina says.
“And you—” Genek beams, marveling at the sight of his niece. “Look at you! You were no bigger than a kitten the last time I saw you!” Felicia blushes. He squats and wraps his arms around Felicia, and then around Mila, who squeezes him tight.
“Oh, Genek, it’s so good to see you,” Mila cries.
When Genek finally makes his way to his father, he finds himself on the receiving end of the longest, most bearish hug of his life. “I missed you, too, Father,” he says, his throat tight.
As father and son cling to one another, Mila turns her attention back to the crowd. Selim stands a meter away with his cap in his hands. They lock eyes for a moment and Mila lifts a hand awkwardly, as if to wave, then motions for Felicia to join her.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Selim says, stepping toward them.
Mila barely breathes as she takes in the image of the man before her—his brown hair, cut short, his round spectacles, his perfect posture. She’d expected him to look different, but, in fact, he looks very much the same. She opens her mouth. “I—Selim, I . . .” But after so many weeks of ruminating on what to say in the moment, she finds her words have left her.
“Mila,” Selim says, stepping toward her.
Mila closes her eyes as he brings her to him. He smells of soap. After a moment’s embrace, she pulls away and bends down, cradling one of her daughter’s hands in hers. “Felicia, darling,” she says softly, looking from her daughter to Selim, “this is your father.”
Felicia follows her mother’s gaze, resting her eyes on her father.
Selim clears his throat, looking from Felicia to Mila. Mila stands. Go on, she nods. Selim lowers himself to his knee so Felicia won’t have to look up to meet his eye.
“Felicia . . .” he starts, and then swallows. He takes a breath, begins again. “Felicia, I brought something for you.” He reaches into his pocket, retrieving a minted silver coin, and hands it to Felicia. She holds it in her palm, studying it. “A young family in Persia gave this to me,” Selim adds, “after I helped to deliver their baby. Do you see the lion here?” He points to the embossing. “He’s carrying a sword. Up here is his crown. And on the reverse . . .” He flips the coin over gently in Felicia’s palm. “This here is a Farsi symbol for the number five. To me, though, it looks like a heart.”
Felicia rubs her thumb over the embossing.
Selim looks again to Mila, who smiles.
“What a very special gift,” Mila offers, resting a hand on Felicia’s shoulder. Felicia glances up at her mother and then again at her father.
“Thank you, Papa,” Felicia says.
Selim is silent for a moment as he takes in the young girl before him. “Would it be all right if I gave you a hug, Felicia?” he asks. Felicia nods. As Selim wraps his arms gently around his daughter’s narrow frame, Felicia turns her cheek to rest it on his shoulder, and Mila has to bite her lip to keep from weeping.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Jakob and Bella
?ód?, Poland ~ October 1945
It’s a German train. The letters scrawled in white paint over the splintered, rust-colored cattle cars read KOBLEN, for Koblenz, where it originated.
A soldier in Home Army attire walks the track, sliding car doors closed as the few remaining passengers on the platform are helped inside. Jakob and Bella are two of the last to board.
“Ready?” Jakob asks.
Next to him, Bella nods. Their son, Victor, two months old, is asleep in her arms. “You first.”